Kevin Cuneo: It makes Erie so special

For visitors to Erie, Discover Presque Isle, which takes place this weekend, is a great name. For those of us who've lived here awhile, Rediscover Presque Isle might be better one.

Either way, the peninsula is a tremendous place that makes Erie so special. Just ask anyone from Pittsburgh. Years ago, when I was a kid, I will never forget traveling north on Route 19, returning home after taking in a Pirates game at Forbes Field.

This happened before I-79 was built, and we passed a steady stream of cars -- bumper to bumper -- headed in the opposite direction. When we stopped for gas near Grove City, the attendant said the traffic was the same every Sunday -- all of those people heading home to Pittsburgh after a fun day at the beach in Erie.

Our family visited the peninsula on a regular basis, mostly to fish. Once, as my mother steered our big Chevy station wagon around a curve, she suddenly came upon a big deer standing right in the middle of the road.

Mom hit the breaks so hard that a bucket of minnows in the back deck tipped over. We retrieved most of the little fish, but others were lost in the car's cracks and crevices. It never smelled the same again.

I loved those trips to Presque Isle when we'd catch panfish and an occasional bullhead and northern pike. A lot of memories bring smiles, especially the time Dad went in the woods and accidentally used poison oak as toilet paper. He didn't sit down for a week.

Dad was not the only Cuneo to goof up at the peninsula. When I accompanied our oldest son's Cub Scout troop on an early spring hike through the woods there, instead of circling around the fallen tree, as the leader advised, I climbed right over it.

That night, I felt a sharp pain on my leg. When I checked it out, I spotted a live tick burrowing into my skin.

Presque Isle is a wonderful place for families. On a sunny, 40-degree day in late February, after a horrendous winter, our middle son and I decided to try ice fishing. Our friend Ernie Simpson had given us all the equipment we needed, and the thick ice beckoned.

When we arrived at the peninsula side of the bay, there were scores of people on the ice. They raced around the ice, skating or pulling their sleds. Dogs barked happily as they chased after them. The whole scene looked like something out of Currier & Ives.

Some of what we saw at the peninsula remains firmly etched in memory. The time we stopped in the lagoons, for example, and spotted six or seven turtles lined up on a log, sunning themselves.

"Look," I told our young boys, "the one at the head of the line is Yertle." The kids loved that Dr. Seuss story.

I think of all the times when, feeling so frazzled after a long day at work, we'd head to Presque Isle to watch the sunset. The moment we drove onto the peninsula and saw those trees and the water, all of the stress would melt away.

The view of the city across the bay, just before you reach the Perry Monument, is second to none.

Once, on a steamy hot Sunday in August, our colicky first son had screamed for hours before we dropped him off at Mary's parents' house and headed to the beach. A strong breeze churned up huge waves, as we stood in the water, and they were powerful enough to knock us over.